Courtesy Call
by Switchblade003
Summary: 4+3; Heh. Anyone ever read that childhood classic,


Have you ever had one of those days, one of those God-forsaken twenty-four hour spells that which went so terribly, horribly awry that you wish you could just start over from scratch 

Disclaimer: New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing is property of Shin Kidousenki and Sotsu Agency, Bandai Inc. 

Title: Courtesy Call

Author: Samuel Slasher

Pairing(s): 4+3, implied 2+1

Warnings: RoAd RaGe

Notes: Quatre might be a bit OOC, but work with me here?

Status: Complete

Have you ever had one of those days, one of those God-forsaken twenty-four hour spells that which went so terribly, horribly awry that you wish you could just start over from scratch? Simply wake up and _not_ hit the snooze button on the alarm clock and get up on time, merely _not_ have to fly down the interstate in the middle of morning traffic and get a speeding ticket, thereby making you even more late than you had been already, and manage to dump a steaming cup of coffee in the lap of your brand-new suit on the way to your office, on the day of a huge conference with a few choice world ambassadors and other important people? And then have you ever prayed that maybe, just maybe, by some stroke of spiritual chance or cosmic alignment of the planets, you'd be able to get through the day holding a newspaper over your lap while walking around—burned in a severely sensitive area of your body—and still trying to sound intimidating to secretaries and annoying office personnel that simply don't seem to get the idea that you've had a bad day and you're not in the mood for impersonal pranks on the job? Well, don't feel alone, because I've been pleading with the powerful entity that runs my day-timer to please, oh _please_, just allow me to somehow recant the past twenty-four hours and start all over again, because yesterday was the most humiliating experience of my adolescent life.

It started off wonderfully enough, and I suppose that's the irony of life. I woke up to the cheerfully annoying buzzing of my alarm clock, happily announcing that it was 0530, accompanied by my lover's soft snores. I reached an arm out and groped around the nightstand, bleary-eyed and a bit reluctant to move from my comfortable position in my friend's arms, and slapped the damned clock off, figuring I had a few more minutes. Had I merely drug myself from the warm pile of limbs I'd been sprawled in and gotten ready for work _then_, perhaps none of this would have happened, and I could have had a successful and productive day at the office. But no. Oh, no. I think that the stars had it written for me today, and there was no preventing disaster. So I rolled back over and fell back into the loving embrace of deep slumber. And awoke promptly at a quarter past six, now having approximately five minutes until my Arabian tail was due in at the office to begin preparing my proposals and contracts for the seven most important men in the known universe. Alas, instead of attaching brightly-colored paperclips in long links at my desk, documents in neat and orderly piles and time to spare, I was hopping around my bedroom, pulling on my slacks while trying to fervently explain to my secretary why I needed fifteen extra minutes to get to my job, and why no, Luanne, I didn't get into a car accident, I'm running a little late. 

I finished getting dressed in record time, dashing out the door three separate times before I had my briefcase, car keys, cellular phone, and laptop, and I left a very amused Trowa Barton smirking at me on the front porch of our house. I decided that I'd chew him out later and hopped into my car, ramming the key into the ignition so quickly that I wondered if I had broken it off or not. I pulled off the emergency brake and threw the transmission into reverse, peeling out of the driveway and into the street, narrowly missing a few choice shrubs and flowering plants in my neighbor's yard. The drive to the interstate was nothing like my normal, laid-back routine, and I left skid-marks at quite a number of stop lights. At this point, now that I really think about it, maybe I won't thoroughly berate my lover when I get home… He was right to get me a sports-car. I never thought I'd need a six-speed car when I'd have been perfectly content in a minivan, but a van could definitely not "haul ass"—to quite Trowa—the way my Eclipse can. No, I'm sure I'm not too angry with him anymore… Oh course, my speeding was also the source of yet another small catastrophe today. While barreling along the interstate at near ninety miles an hour, I suddenly and inexplicably encountered a horrendous and quite unmoving wall of traffic, blocking all six lanes of the freeway. 

To my knowledge, I used every single curse word I'd ever heard used before, and I would have done Duo proud, because I'm certain that I invented quite a few. Rational thought all but escaped my fragile mind as I ran smack into a virtual barricade of brake-lights, and I had to slam on my own brakes to narrowly avoid missing the tail-end of a pickup truck. So as I sat there, gripping the steering wheel white-knuckled and trying my damnedest not to growl aloud, my red eyes alighted on a promising prospect. I did what any normal person in the heat of anger would, and I revved my engine, then peeled off to the side and bolted down the emergency lane. Now, as I did this, and flew down the shoulder of the road at highly inadvisable speeds, three things happened. My grip of the steering wheel loosened considerably, and I relaxed as my eyes scouted the miles of unobstructed pavement before me. I grinned at my own audacity, and silently reflected on how proud Heero would have been of me in a situation such as this. And from behind me, as another vehicle roared up inches from my bumper, loud sirens and flashing blue lights caught my attention, and I felt my heart drop straight to my groin. I was racing along the shoulder of the road, in a construction area, at almost three twice the speed limit, and I had a cop on my ass. Oh, there was going to be hell to pay for this later on.

It had never occurred to me the possible repercussions of my actions. All that had existed to me at that point in time was getting to work as quickly and effortlessly as possible, and perhaps intercepting those ambassadors on their way to the conference room before disaster struck and they realized how entirely unprepared I was presently. But as I pumped by brakes and tried to bring my car to a stop, I felt my hands trembling on the steering wheel, and despite the cold December weather I was sweating. I had never been confronted by a police officer before… sure, OZ soldiers and security guards before, but this was different. As I watched the cop climb out of his car cautiously and stomp up to my door, the hysterical thought that I hadn't even needed to pull over crossed my mind. I sat ramrod straight in my seat, silently praying that perhaps he'd let me go on sheer pity of the horrible day I was having… No such luck. Au contraire, this guy happened to notice that my plates said "Winner" in large print, and I felt my spine melt as he approached with a smug grin. Great, now I was being ticketed by either a former Alliance soldier or a Romafeller supporter, and I was in for it. Sure enough, he came up to my window and tapped on the glass, and with a groan I slammed my fist down on the electric control to lower the window. Trowa was going to kill me.

"Excuse me, Mr. _Winner_?" I nodded miserably. "Do you have any idea why I pulled you over?" he asked, a bit rhetorically. Of course I knew why he'd pulled me over… kind of. Again, I hadn't really needed to pull onto the shoulder… But I just shook my head and let him fill me in on the details. "Sir, you were speeding in a construction zone… _110_ miles per hour, to be exact, and you're driving in the _emergency lane_. You didn't use your turn signal, you're not wearing a seat belt, and your plates are out-of-colony jurisdiction." He paused, and then his crooked grin widened. "Oh, and your tags are expired. License and registration, please?" I choked back the sob building in my throat as I reached over to fumble with the glove compartment. This was going to look incredibly awful if the media ever got wind of this. The president and CEO of Winner Enterprises Incorporated, Quatre Winner himself, being pulled over by a no-account cop for reckless driving. And if Trowa found out about it from the television before I got a chance to talk to him?! I was a very dead Arabian. And things didn't get much better, because as I finally managed to tug the glove box open, what should tumble out and onto the passenger's seat but a cache of parking tickets and a loaded semi-automatic. Leave it to Barton to forget trivial things like illegal weaponry in my damned car.

"Hands where I can see them! Now!" The police officer shouted at me loudly, backing away from the window and drawing his own gun. He aimed it at my chest and barked again. "Out of the car! Keep your hands behind your head!" I complied, wishing that I could have just checked the glove box before I'd left, but it was a futile thought at this point. So in the midst of rush hour traffic on the highway 95, I stepped out of my car with my hands at the back of my head like a criminal and waited for the cop to finish searching my vehicle. He didn't find much, it turned out, besides Trowa's Glok. The parking tickets were all my partner's, of course, and they had been paid. That news hit me with a wave of relief, but was very short-lived as the police officer demanded to know whether I had a license for the gun or not. Of course, I didn't. I told him that it belonged to my roommate, and after he spent about half an hour running a check on the blasted thing, he confirmed that it belonged to one Trition Bloom. He handed it back, berated me about the dangers of carrying a concealed weapon, and then gave me seven separate tickets and a court date. As I climbed back into my car to join the normal flow of bumper-to-bumper traffic, I realized with a glance to the dashboard clock that I was now forty-five minutes late to work, and that it would be taking me at least another half-hour to get there. This had to have been the worst day of my adolescent life, and it was only seven in the morning. 

The drive to the office was anything but luxurious—I figured out that the snow on the roads was probably the cause of the holdup—and I found myself developing a pounding migraine from the fumes and smoke being blown into my car, as well as the random car horns and curses from fellow drivers, so I rolled up my window and fumbled around with the radio. I hit the power button absently, and was rewarded with a loud and extremely heavy burst of bass and electric guitar from the speakers, and I yelped. I swiped at the volume control, trying to cover my ears with my free hand, and growled ominously. No, Trowa Barton was definitely never stepping foot near my damned car again. _Ever_. He could ride his motorcycle to his heart's content. I managed to find a station that was playing classical music and decided that it might calm my nerves a bit, and it did. I was humming along to the sounds of a favorite baroque piece I'd played before, my eyes lazily darting around the car for a distraction, and they alighted on the cup of hot coffee I'd forgotten about. With a triumphant grin, I pulled the lid off the cup and took a sip, sighing happily for once that morning. I was reveling in the rich aroma of fresh coffee grounds when something quite unexpected happened. The huge pickup truck that I had almost slammed into earlier that morning was right behind me, and he had run into the bumper of my car in an impatient effort to get me to move forward.

I was jolted forward in my seat, and my wonderful cup of hot coffee went tumbling out of my hand… directly into my lap. I cursed. I yelled. I shouted. I swore some more. The dark brown liquid had stained the front of my immaculate khaki slacks, and it _hurt_. Pain shot in waves up through my stomach, and if it hadn't been for the fact that I'm gay, I would have been worried about not being able to have children. My groin burned intensely, and at that point I wasn't even concerned for my bumper. I groped around on the floor behind my seat for something to soak up the coffee with, and came across a wad of napkins from some fast food restaurant or another. I mopped furiously at the ever-spreading stain, cursing quietly in vernacular now, praying that the discoloration wouldn't be overly noticeable. The car in front of me moved forward by a few feet—the most progress I'd seen in this lane all morning—and I hastily followed, cutting my eyes between the sopping wet lap of my slacks and the road ahead of me. I really was not fancying having to walk around my office until six tonight with my briefcase held over my crotch, and the idea of giving a presentation before the ambassadors with a huge stain on the front of my pants was definitely not growing on me. I'd have to find a change of clothing once I reached WEI Headquarters… 

And then a loud ringing from the backseat startled me, and I realized with wide blue eyes that I'd left my cell phone in my briefcase, and that my secretary was probably pulling her hair out with worry right about now. I stretched to reach the backseat of my sports-car, grabbing the strap to my bag and dragging it over the console between the front seat, right onto my lap. Fumbling with the closures, I rammed a hand inside it, fishing out my phone. The bag landed on the backseat once more with a thud, and I yanked the antenna to the phone out with my teeth, hitting the "talk" button and holding it to my ear while squinting through the bright sunlight ahead of me at the traffic. "Hello?" The voice that greeted me was definitely not my secretary. It wasn't even female, actually… Quatre? Where are you? Luanne called the house looking for you. I groaned and banged my forehead lightly against the leather encased steering wheel. "Trowa, I'm stuck in traffic." I deliberated silently on whether or not to tell him what had happened, and he spoke again before I could reach a decision. What's wrong? You sound… upset. I sighed, laying my head on my arms over the steering wheel, watching the exhaust from the car ahead of me travel up into the air. "I got pulled over," I answered quietly, and my lover didn't respond for a moment, but I could just see him frowning. By the police, I'm assuming? he inquired gently. I confirmed and focused my eyes on the road. Little One… You were speeding? How many times have I told you about that? You could've gotten into an accident. 

While I realize that he was trying to be comforting in his paternal sort of way, I really wasn't in the mood to be scolded. "Thanks for being so understanding," I drawled, and immediately regretted it. Trowa has very little experience with emotions or how to respond to them, and I'm fairly certain that he thought he'd done something wrong. I…I've got to go. My eyes widened considerably and I moved the phone closer to my mouth. "No! Wait, Trowa—" I found myself talking to the dial tone, as my lover had already hung up the phone. I mentally kicked myself as I hung up as well, tossing the phone onto the passenger's seat. Then I actually hit myself, smacking my palm into my forehead rather harshly, and I grimaced as I realized there was going to be a mark now. "Dammit!" I swore loudly for the millionth time that morning, yanking the rear-view mirror down to examine the red splotch in the center of my forehead. "Great! Just wonderful!" I silently prayed that my jagged bangs would be long enough to cover the mark until it went away, and I readjusted my mirror. This was steadily getting worse. Now Trowa was mad at me and I had to walk into work looking like I poster-child for astringent. My pants were still ruined, and I was now five minutes from the office, with no visible way of concealing the mess. If one more bad thing happened today…

It did. In fact, It seems my disastrous road trip that morning had only been the tip of the iceberg. As I rushed into my office building, commandeering a freight elevator from an unhappy custodian and holding my briefcase strategically over my lap, I found myself confronted with an over-anxious secretary and seven very unhappy ambassadors. "Mr. Winner," the eldest man said quite contemptuously. "Is this how you treat all your potential business prospects?" I opened my mouth to reply and apologize for my tardiness, but the man held up one hand to silence me and continued. "Well, from what I observed here today I certainly had the wrong opinion about Winner Enterprises, and you, Mr. Winner. Your father was truly a great man, but I wonder if he made a fatal error in selecting you to fill his shoes. They're obviously too big for you." The six men behind him all nodded and murmured their agreement. I don't believe that I've ever been quite as embarrassed as I was just then, standing in the middle of an office full of my employees, being chastised by a man four times my age on how irresponsible I am. Luanne looked ready to pounce on the nearest one, but I shot her a look while trying to remain polite in the face of such adversity, and cleared my throat. "Mr. Winner, this has been anything but pleasant, and I'm certain you'll hear from PR about this."

With that, seven agitated men brushed roughly past me and made their way to the twin glass doors at the head of the immense room and departed. I stood, completely crestfallen, the entire staff of my company's headquarters looking at me for a reaction. My blue eyes scanned the gaping faces, the rows of men and women with headsets or mobile phones held in their hands but silent, and I forced a little smile. "I'll be in my office if anyone needs anything," I managed to choke out, and turned sharply on my heel, briefcase firmly in place, and trudged towards my office. Luanne followed, and I grimaced as she reached my side and asked if I was all right, if I'd run into problems on the interstate, perhaps overslept, and offered her support in light of what had happened with those "rude men". I nodded and thanked her, reaching the door to my office, and grasped the knob. Before I could retreat to my sanctuary, however, she put a hand on my shoulder and spun me around. I tried not to squeak in surprise, and she clucked her tongue in disapproval, eyeing my slacks. Very loudly, she called over one of the new temps and asked him to bring me a change of clothes. When he inquired why, she merely answered with, "Mr. Winner had an accident on the way to work."

There were quite a few snickers and chuckles floating through the office as I closed my door quietly behind myself. I set my laptop and briefcase carefully onto my desk, picked up one of the expensive glass paperweights from my polished cedar desktop, and beamed it at the far northern wall of the room, smiling satisfactorily as it shattered quite loudly against the white plaster. Silence echoed from outside the office, and as I sat myself in my desk chair, reflecting on how I'd managed to just ruin one of the biggest deals in the history of my father's company, I propped my feet up and sighed. It was only nine in the morning, and I still had ten more hours before I could retreat home and cry myself sick. Of course, after what had just happened with Trowa, maybe going home wasn't exactly the best plan, either… I sat and brooded on that for a while, until there was a polite knock on my door, and I muttered for whoever it was to come in. The temp was back, a freshly dry-cleaned suit in his arms, and he smiled brightly at me. "Here you are, sir." I gave him a weak smile in return, I remembered this guy. He'd been temping for almost three months now, and he was always grinning. A part of my heart twisted slightly every time I saw him, because he reminded me of Duo—who I hadn't seen in quite while.

The boy left without another word, closing the door behind himself, and I changed quickly. The sun was already hanging in the sky as I pulled open the blinds that covered the huge picture window dominating the east wall. The WEI HQ building was situated in the heart of New York City, overlooking crowded streets, miles of cement, and millions of people all milling around thirty floors below. I read different banners and billboards, all pronouncing Yuletide greetings and goodwill, and then it struck me. Today was Christmas Eve. In my rush the past few weeks to gear up for this conference with the ambassadors, I had completely overlooked _Christmas_. I suppose that's a good measure of just how consuming my job really can be, for me to miss such an important holiday. Well, I'm of the Moslem faith, actually, so it's not that big a deal for me, but to the rest of the world and Colonies, it's colossal. And something else popped into my head as I thought about this. It was certainly a major holiday for _Trowa_. I groaned aloud and leaned against the window, sliding down it to land on the floor with a thump. My back on the rest of the world, I mulled over one of the conversations I'd had with my partner earlier that week.

"Hey, Trowa? Have you ever celebrated Christmas?"

"No."

"Oh."

We had sat in silence for a few moments, I stirring my coffee idly with a spoon, Trowa combing absent fingers through my hair as he often liked to do while thinking. Then: "Does it mean anything to you?"

I remember having been quite surprised by this 180 in the questioning, and for my part I could do little more than shake my head. He chuckled softly and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head, murmuring into my hair. "It's always been important to me, but I've never had occasion in which to celebrate it. It's been taught to me as a holiday meant to spend with family, but I've found that rather challenging, considering I have no family with which to share it."

"You can share it with me," I had said hopefully, and he had given me one of his rare, beautiful smiles, accepting my invitation with a graceful nod and a gracious word.

And sitting there on the Persian rug that ran the length of the picture window in my office, it all came into perspective for me: how completely irresponsible I'd been that morning, how selfish I'd been acting when it came to the one person that I loved more than anything, and how much of a workaholic I'd become. It was ridiculous, and a large part of me felt like kicking myself. Instead of resorting to self-inflicted physical violence, however, I decided to take my rapidly growing anxiety about the situation and turn it into something a bit more productive. Completely abandoning everything but my car keys, I shed my insecurities of my fellow employees seeing my slacks' stained state and marched out of my office, heading through the throngs of rushing assistants and hotline operators, brushing through the crowds practically unnoticed, and when I got to the two glass double doors, reading the name of my company backwards on the transparent panels, I stopped, and turned to face everyone else. "Excuse me, can I have your attention for a moment, please?" I asked, raising my voice ever so slightly.

All chaos and disorder in the room froze like a video put on pause, and all eyes—some weary, some caffeine-energized—focused on me. I cleared my throat, flushing slightly, and in my best business tone, addressed my workers. "Now, I know it's Christmas Eve, but there's a lot of work to be done…" I began, and instantly the hope drained from tired faces. There was a collective sound of shuffling and weight being shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, as if asking me to speed it up, for there was still work to be done. "This company is the backbone of the Colonies, and someone has to run it, even on the eve of a major holiday…" And as I looked around at the exhausted faces, the slouched posture and the melancholy expressions, I smiled. These people had probably all had just as bad a day as I had, perhaps worse. "But I'm certain that, at least this Christmas, Winner Enterprises can run itself, hm?" I continued, cocking an elegant blonde brow and watching the sedate faces instantly brighten. "Come on, all of you!" I laughed, gesturing for everyone to follow me out of the office. "I want you all to go home and be with your families! Take the tomorrow off," I shouted over the wild applause and shuffling of papers, briefcases, cellular phones chirping, and basic controlled chaos around me. "Hell, take the _week_ off! I don't want to see anyone back here before New Year's, or you're fired!" 

The drive home was a pleasant one. It was nearly one in the afternoon, and the traffic was mild and benign, compared to that of the morning. I was a bit paranoid of my speed, as well as approaching police vehicles, but most officer simply honked their horns upon sight of my license plate and waved, rolling down windows to shout ambivalent greetings. I was in a much more pleasant mood when I pulled off the interstate and into a local shopping mall to begin the search for a Christmas gift for my lover. After shedding my tie and suspenders, and rolling up my sleeves, I tucked my cell phone into my pocket and popped on my sunglasses, making my way into the mile-long shopping complex. If I couldn't find something for my friend _here_, then it couldn't be found anywhere… I spent a while simply looking around, amazed at certain products I found, such as a home waffle-maker, and a rather nice espresso machine, but nothing that simply struck me as something that Trowa would need. I rifled through a few music selections at an instrument shop, but I wasn't too certain whether it was classical or neo-romantic music that took him, so I continued my adventure through the mall. Clothing stores screamed out in brilliant colors their wares, and a nearby piercing pagoda advertised, "Buy One, Get One Free," in the window. Struck by curious impulse, I ventured over to investigate…

…And emerged half an hour later with a sterling silver stud through my navel, and a smug smile on my face. Some abstract, hentai part of my brain—that had incidentally made its presence known only after my first sexual encounter with my partner—speculated that the piercing would be a good gift enough, but I shook that thought off. No, I simply had to find something… On instinct, I pulled my phone out and hit the speed-dial number for my strongest confidante, Duo Maxwell. The braided pilot had always known the best, quickest fix to a desperate situation, and I just knew he'd have some advice for me. A beaming smile took my lips automatically as he answered on his line. Yo, Duo's… er… I could hear him trying to muffle the phone with his hand and shout to someone in the background, Oi, Heero, what's the name of this place, again? I stifled my laughter as I heard the Wing pilot grumble something that sounded rather similar to Wufei's indignant retorts, and then Duo was back on the line, and I swear, I could almost _hear_ him grinning. Duo's Junkyard, what can I do ya for? With a laugh I greeted my old comrade-in-arms.

"Hi, Duo! Why haven't you called?" An explosion of laughter from the other end of the phone made my smile grow. Oi, Cat! How are ya! Merry Christmas, man! I returned his wish and sighed. "Listen, Duo… I need some help with something… That is, if you're not too busy, of course…" My American counterpart merely snorted and yawned loudly. Not a problem, at all, kiddo. There's been no business around these parts in days… We were just wrestling the dog away from dinner, he chuckled, and again Heero's rather agitated voice resonated through the room Duo was in. "Well… You see, I'm at the mall right now. I've been so wrapped up in the company lately, that I… I flushed and searched for words, but Shinigami, with his skill for mind-reading, beat me to it. You completely forgot to get the wife something, ne? I laughed at his implication and nodded, sighing into the receiver. "I didn't mean to, but now I can't seem to figure out what to get him…" I replied helplessly. Don't worry, Cat. We can figure this out. Now, give me a few store names, and I'll tell you where to start looking…

Two hours and several near-hangups later saw me walking proudly back to my car, a large barking box in my arms. Duo had directed me through over seventy separate stores, and we had finally arrived upon the conclusion that what my lover really needed was a pet, to keep him company while I was away at work. I had debated with my friend on whether or not to purchase a kitten for Trowa—he is terribly partial to felines, what with working with the lions at the circus and all—but Duo insisted that canines were much more loyal and loving, and that seemed to be exactly what my boyfriend needed. So I had selected a small puppy from a large litter of dogs, the runt of the pack, I suppose. It was a cute puppy, red and white, a half-bred husky and spitz mix with one blue and one brown eye. His coat was soft, and he was very friendly, though then he seemed quite opposed to his temporary confinement. Once seated in the car, I let him out of the box, instructing him rather apprehensively to remain in the backseat. Of course, halfway through the drive home saw him lounged across my lap as I steered, but he was simply too precious to refuse. 

When I pulled up into the driveway to the house, the van was parked where I had left it that morning, Trowa's Jeep also sitting outside, and the lights in the house were off. It was nearly ten at night, and I hoped that I'd be able to get the puppy—who I'd ostensibly taken to calling 'Okami'—into the house without my love noticing. I pushed through the front door, holding the dog to my chest and closing the heavy oak portal behind myself. Arming the security system, I set my keys on the table in the entrance hall, peeking around for any sign of human life. Suddenly, Okami wriggled in my arms and I dropped him onto the carpet in surprise, and he went running down the hall towards the living room. "Dammit," I whispered, following him as quietly as I could. The entire house was dark, it seemed, as I fumbled down the hall, trying to avoid precariously-placed furniture that lined the walls, until finally I found the puppy lounged across the immense marble hearth that dominated the den, a quiet, and secluded room in the house that Trowa loves to frequent. A smaller Christmas tree than the one in the living room was tucked away in the corner, decorated tastefully with old-fashioned German ornaments and strings of popcorn that I'd come home the previous week to find my partner making, a direct result of boredom, he'd said.

With a sigh, I reached a hand up to run through my hair, smiling a little as Okami whined, rolling onto his side to face the warm fire that radiated heat in comfortable waves from the fireplace. The light from the flames threw yellow hues across the small room, shadows dancing over the tree, with its tiny, twinkling white lights, and as I surveyed the room, my eyes fell on the coffee table, where stacks of reports and case files littered the tabletop—Trowa's Preventer caseload. And laying curled up on the plush couch behind the table was my love. He was sleeping, I presumed, as I walked over to where he lay, kneeling in front of the sofa, smiling as I studied him. It was a rare occasion that I was granted the opportunity to watch my comrade sleep, as he normally woke me up in the mornings to get to work on time, and I savored the moment, then. Trowa really is quite an attractive young man, and though most people are intimidated by his callous and disinterested demeanor, I know that beneath his lethal body language and fatal, cold beauty, he's nothing but sweet, gentle, and protective at heart. Seeing him sleeping like that only strengthened my convictions in him. The fire cast a subtle orange glow over his tanned skin, playing over his handsome, angular features and streaking highlights of gold through his auburn hair. Long, dark lashes fanned out over high cheekbones, his thin lips parted slightly to reveal white, even teeth. 

I sat for a while simply watching him, his chest rising and falling under his sweatshirt, listening to his even breathing and occasional sighs as he slept on peacefully. After a while, I couldn't resist temptation, and I leaned down to rest my cheek to his chest, my ear over his heart as I listened to the strong, even heartbeats resonating in his solid chest. He stirred a little at my touch, murmuring incoherently, turning his head to one side and then settling back down. He was silent for a while, and then his soft tenor caught my attention. "You're home early," he whispered, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. I sat up, smiling up at him, and his eyes held mine in a sleepy but contented gaze. "I'm glad." I nodded, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his lips, laughing softly as he tried to no avail to contain a yawn. He really is cute when he's half-awake, and it's still amazing to me that he can be so… disoriented around me, because he used to wake up and jump straight off the bed if I so much as rolled over into him. He used to be… well, jumpy as Hell, to be honest, but now, he lets his guard down every once and a while, and it's rare times like those that make me realize why I fell in love with him in the first place.

Almost absently, I picked up one of his hands from its position at his side, running my fingertips softly over his palm, and he sighed again, relaxing back onto the sofa and looking up at me silently. "Merry Christmas," I said quietly after a while, lifting his hand to rest his knuckles against my cheek. He smiled, nodding. And then Okami barked from somewhere near the tree, and Trowa's elegant brows shot up, his eyes widening slightly. Curious green eyes searched for the source of the barking, and I looked over my shoulder at the puppy, sitting under the tree with a string of popcorn hanging from his little jaws. I had to admit, despite the fact that he had interrupted our moment, ruined a perfectly edible string of popcorn, and spoiled my surprise for my lover, it was actually pretty funny. Trowa seemed to think so also, as he chuckled and his hands went to my hips, lifting me up as he sat up and he got off the couch. He walked over to the puppy, scooping him up in one hand and holding him up for inspection. After a while of studying the furry animal, he smiled again and turned to me. 

"How'd you know?" he inquired, and I frowned. I had had no idea that he had wanted a puppy. It had just been Duo's theory on what to get a mercenary for Christmas. We had destroyed our Gundams, so Trowa needed a new companion. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had named the dog Heavyarms, honestly… But he padded back over to me, falling onto the couch where I sat and laying on his back, allowing me to cradle his head in my lap. Okami settled down on his stomach and after a while I suspected that I had heard snores coming from the bundle of fluff. Trowa was practically purring as he closed his eyes and whispered to me. "Thank you," he sighed, "I've never had a dog before… I've always wanted one, though." I nodded my understanding and ran a hand through his light brown hair, watching the red and gold highlights that danced over the silky strands as the fire blazed in the hearth. "So, besides that ticket, how was your day?" he asked innocently, and I realized that I had completely forgotten what an awful day I'd had.

So it hadn't exactly been as horrible as I'd thought. It _had_ started off pretty badly, but seeing the happiness on Trowa's face at such a simple gift was really worth waking up late, and the speeding ticket, and the spilled coffee, and the embarrassment at my office… Well, maybe not all of that in one day, but… Nonetheless, I was now a bit happier, and I sat back on the couch to watch my partner wrestling with the dog on the den's floor. "It was all right," I sighed, rubbing my eyes with the back of one hand. Trowa stood, cradling the puppy in his arms and arched an eyebrow at me. "What?" He reached over and took me by my arm, dragging me in the general direction of our bedroom, and I let him. We settled down for sleep, the dog lounged at the foot of the bed, and for once that day, I felt entirely complacent. 

~*~

Somewhere in the vicinity of the bedroom, bleary teal eyes flashed open and stared in horror at the alarm clock, reading a cheerful 06:15 AM.

~Finis~


End file.
